Not Quite Gone
by LenaKinstel
Summary: Post Reichenbach - John was quite used to having strange cars and strange women take him away to remote places thanks to Mycroft. But what if this time, he was being taken to someone else? An old friend, who, as it turns out, isn't quite dead.
1. Chapter 1

Obvious disclaimers like "I don't own any characters" etc.

* * *

><p><strong>The blog of Dr. John H. Watson<strong>

22nd January.

_Tomorrow marks three years since it happened. _

_I might go to Baker Street and see Mrs Hudson. I imagine we'll go to the cemetery._

_He was the greatest man I knew. I'll have a few drinks on him tonight._

* * *

><p>John Watson stepped out of 221B and on to the pavement of Baker Street. He had been dreading today. He had been dreading returning to the flat. Mrs Hudson had insisted on it, practically threatened him, so he had taken a taxi from the other side of London to accompany her to the grave of Sherlock Holmes.<p>

Since the Fall, John had moved away from Baker Street and found himself a small bedsit, a cheap one, and spent his days doing menial tasks to busy himself. He wasn't able to do nothing because when he did nothing he thought of Sherlock. He thought of their times and adventures and oh, how that hurt. He just had to close his eyes and the image of Sherlock was embedded in the blackness behind his eyelids. He had never missed a man as much as he missed Sherlock Holmes.

Today had gone better than expected. He had tea with Mrs Hudson and while she prepared her coat he snuck upstairs to the flat. It hadn't been touched. Nothing had been moved. Mrs Hudson tried to clean up Sherlock's things soon after he died but John had stopped her; insisting that everything stay where it is. Packing away his possessions meant saying goodbye and that was something John was never prepared to do.

His friends and family repeatedly told him how important it was to say goodbye and move on but John didn't want to. He knew how painful it would be not to leave him behind but moving on felt like betrayal. Deep down he still believed Sherlock was alive. Which of course, was utterly ridiculous.

He went to the cemetery with Mrs Hudson to lay some flowers and say a few words. There was so much John wanted to say but didn't dare in front of someone else. All the things he wanted to say were only for Sherlock to hear and seeing as it would be near impossible to tell him, John kept those words to himself. The reason it was 'near impossible' and not fully impossible was because somehow, John believed, Sherlock was still here. Still alive. His psychiatrist told him that was utter nonsense and it was just what he wanted to believe but there was something that told him Sherlock was not quite dead.

"John Watson?"

The voice startled the doctor and brought him out of his daydream. He looked over to the woman stood a few metres away from him under the canopy of the cafe next door. The first thing he noticed was her hair. Bright red, dyed obviously, tied up in a messy bun with a few strands falling over her face. Next was her height. She wasn't wearing high heels yet she must have been at least six foot tall, if not, more. She wore a black pencil skirt and an untucked purple blouse. She looked very professional.

"Doctor John Watson?" she said again taking a few steps towards him while reaching out her hand, offering it to John. He took her hand and shook it tightly.

"Yes. Can I help you?" Believe it or not he was used to professional looking women finding him outside 221B as Mycroft often sent them to retrieve him. It had something to do with his bloody power complex he had. Most irritating.

"Yes. You're going to walk with me" she stated as she turned on her heels and walked down the street.

"I'm sorry but who are you?"

The woman turned around as she walked to see John attempting to catch up with her. His limp had returned since losing Sherlock. She smiled and replied "A friend".

"Okay. Well where the hell are we going?" He thought was a reasonable question but didn't expect her to answer. If she was one of Mycroft's then she wouldn't answer a lot of his questions, certainly ones relating to their destination as he was often kept in the dark about that as far as Mycroft was concerned.

"Belfast" she replied. John wasn't expecting an answer at all let alone one as far fetched as that. Although the woman had a strong Irish accent, he wouldn't have been able to even come close to guessing that.

"Why Belfast? Surely Mycroft's going out of his way this time." The woman turned around and raised an eyebrow. "I can't just leave London" continued John.

"Yes you can. I've called the surgery where you work and they've given you a holiday. Very kind of them." The last part of her sentence was interrupted by the beep of her phone which she took out of her pocket and stared at for a few seconds. Obviously a text. She rolled her eyes before tapping a reply. "Trust me Doctor Watson. It'll be worth it"

They continued walking another mile then got into a car which the woman drove herself to Heathrow airport.

* * *

><p>"You've got your limp back" she stated. They were seated on a commercial flight to Belfast and she hadn't said a thing since the drive to the airport. John was beginning to think that following a strange redhead into a car and onto a plane wasn't such a good idea.<p>

"Excuse me?"

"Your limp. You had it and then you didn't. Now it's back" she smiled at him. Then turned her attention back to her phone. John was pretty sure you weren't allowed to have your phone turned on during a flight but guessing from the amount of texts she seemed to be receiving the sender wasn't going to wait for her to land.

"How the hell did you know that?" He was reminded of his first encounter of Sherlock. He said the exact same words to him when he deducted his entire life story just by looking at his phone.

"A friend of mine. Told me to look out for your limp. He was right" she prodded his thigh with her little finger. "You're limping." She smiled again as she returned to the text she was half way through sending.

Two hours later they had landed in Belfast and were catching a taxi into the city. They stopped outside a terrace house numbered 11. John got out and looked up and down the street. The whole road had terraced housing of different pastel colours. The one he was stood outside was a pale blue.

The woman walked up to the front door and fumbled for the correct key. Just as she got the key in the door he phone went off again. This time a phone call. She brought it up to her ear and listened to the caller for a moment. "You've got to be kidding me..." she turned around to face John and mouthed the word 'sorry' to which John awkwardly smiled and nodded. "We're not going to stand on the doorstep while you get changed..." she continued talking on the phone. "Fine... Okay, bugger off, we'll see you in a second" She hung up the phone and placed it back in her pocket.

"Problem?" John rocked back and forth casually while she stared up at the house and into the windows.

"Just waiting a few minutes" she rolled her eyes.

"Where are we anyway? Are you even with Mycroft?"

"Mycroft? Lord, no. Haven't seen him in years. And this is my place" she followed the direction John was staring at. He seemed to be fixated on one of the third floor windows.

After a few minutes, the redhead stepped up to the front door again and turned the key muttering something about not wanting to wait any longer. She opened the door and stepped aside to let the doctor in first. Hesitantly he nodded and walked past her into the house.

He stood in the hallway for a few minutes. The first floor seemed small, used only for coats and shoes, more like a welcome hall than anything. The woman kicked off her shoes and casually threw them into the hall. She was starting to seem less and less professional by the minute.

John bent down to untie his shoes so they could join the pile gathering on the hall floor when he froze. The familiar sound of a violin filled the house. He looked up at the stairs to determine where it was coming from. He stood up and simply kicked off his shoes to hurry the process and started to climb the stairs never taking his eyes off the upper floors. He was aware that the woman was closely behind him. "Do you scare easy?" she said. John simply shook his head. "Good" she replied. "Just follow the music".

John quickly looked at her before almost breaking into a run up the stairs. He ended up on the third floor hallway and looked around. Three rooms were on the floor. One of which was a bathroom, the door stood wide open. He continued to follow the sounds of the violin and stopped at the door furthest from the stairs. The redhead woman was stood on the top step with her arms crossed watching him. She nodded for him the open the door before heading back downstairs.

The doctor paused to listen to the music for a few moments before turning the door handle and stepping inside.

He found himself in a fairly large bedroom. A messy bedroom at that. He looked around to identify the large bed in the corner which was unmade, the desk which was cluttered with paper and pots and different sized beakers and the tall figure stood with his back to John. The man was facing the window, watching the world go by as he finished the piece of music he was playing.

John's legs felt like jelly. He used his walking stick to hold most of his weight as he stared at the unforgettable form of Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock peered over his right shoulder. "Ah, John. Nice of you to join me. Take a seat..." Sherlock turned around and waved his violin bow around the room quickly realising he was lacking a seat for John. He looked up at the doctor and attempted to deduce what was going through his head. Unfortunately the sheer number of emotions running across John's face was hard for Sherlock to read.

"You're alive? I mean... you're actually alive?" John's voice came out more like a whisper of disbelief.

"Obviously" Sherlock casually replied.

"You absolute git" John limped over closer to Sherlock so he was about a metre away. "You total and utter git. You..." he placed his palm against his own forehead as if trying to process what was happening.

"John... I know what you're thinking and frankly I -" Sherlock was cut off by John's fist colliding with his jaw. "Now that _was_ expected". The detective stood tall again while flexing his jaw to inspect the damage.

"How? How the hell could you just... I don't understand, I saw you..." John let his walking stick fall to the floor as he placed his hands over his face and took deep breaths. "I said... I said you were alive. You had to be. It's what you do. You're smart. But then I – I... saw you... you fell..." he continued to take deep breaths while Sherlock simply watched him curiously. "You were gone. You fucking left me!" he became a mix of angry and on the edge of a breakdown.

Sherlock watched John, unsure of what to do. He predicted he would be angry, he had seen John angry plenty of times and it was easy to imagine but Sherlock found it hard to identify what else John was feeling. Frustration maybe? "John, would it help if I said I was sorry. What I did was essential. I had to do it in order to stop Moriarty"

John's hands fell from his face and reached out to Sherlock's chest. He laid his hand there for a few moments while keeping his head down facing the floor before grabbing a handful of Sherlock's shirt and pulling the detective towards himself, then, he buried his face in the man's chest. Sherlock placed his hands on John's shoulders and felt the doctors breathing become hitched and soon realised he was trying to hold back tears.

The redhead woman poked her head from behind the bedroom door to check on the men as they had fallen silent. Her eyes met Sherlock's who raised his eyebrows at her indicating his uncomfortability. She in return rolled her eyes and made a hugging motion with her arms as if she was playing a game of charades. The detective understood her and wrapped his arm's around John's back and pulled him closer against his chest. The woman gave Sherlock the thumbs up before slowly exiting the room and heading downstairs.

The two men remained that way for another minute or two before John pulled away, using the sleeves of his jacket to wipe his face of any evidence that he had just fallen apart. "I need a minute" he said before leaving the room and closing the door behind him without looking back at Sherlock. He stumbled through the hallway and had to use the stair banister to keep himself from keeling over. He placed a hand on his chest and took multiple deep breaths.

Sherlock was alive. Actually alive. I knew it thought John.

He slowly made his way downstairs in hope of a cup of tea or water or something to help calm himself. He wondered onto the second floor where he found the kitchen and large living room. He sat down on the nearest sofa and bent over to place his forehead to his knees.

A few minutes passed before the redheaded woman sat beside him. "I thought you said you didn't get easily shocked". John turned his head to look at her. She had changed into a pair of dark blue jeans and a scruffy jumper which was about two sizes too big for her. She held two cups of coffee in her hands and gave one to John who gratefully took it and sat up. "I'm Lena by the way. Lena Scott" she said before sipping her own coffee. "I had to guess how you take it" she motioned towards John's mug who sipped it to taste and smiled. It was fine.

He sat back and sighed. "How long has he been here for?" he asked Lena.

"Two years, eleven months and twenty something days". Lena forced a smile and continued to sip her coffee. "I had no choice in the matter. He turned up at my door and just announced that he would be living here. Which, as you can imagine, was fun". She rolled her eyes.

"How do you know him?" There were so many more questions he wanted to ask.

"University. I was assigned to be his research freshmen. You know, when first years get partnered up to help forth years. Yeah well I had the privilege to be his." She laughed to herself before getting up and returning shortly with a bottle of Jameson. "You look like you need something stronger; fancy making that coffee Irish?" she said while she poured some of the whiskey into her own coffee.

John held out his mug and frowned as she poured a little too much. He took a sip to try it. Definitely too strong. "So how've you managed to live with him for so long?"

"You mean without killing him? With great difficulty. He never left the house. Said it was too dangerous so I had him cooped up here with nothing to do and multiple bullet holes in my kitchen wall"

"So he couldn't solve any cases? Couldn't do anything? So, pretty much... you had Sherlock Holmes stuck in your house... being constantly bored? Wow" John sat back and settled more into the sofa, gulping down his coffee.

"Mmm. He tried to get himself a few cases but he couldn't get on the good side of the local police. It tortured him. Eventually he resorted to watching shows like _CSI _and _Criminal Minds_ just to gain some sort of familiarity." She looked over at John who was laughing. "What? I didn't choose to live with him. You did that. How, I'll never know. But I've always been just stuck with him. I deserve some sort of pity." She laughed in return.

They both sat there laughing until Sherlock stepped into the room with his hands in his pockets, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, Sherlock. I just getting to know John" smiled Lena. "He's a lovely guy." She giggled as Sherlock stared daggers at her. "Fine. I'll leave." She stood up and took John's empty mug then left the room. Sherlock took her place on the sofa.

You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. Eventually Sherlock cleared his throat to break the silence. "John, I... am deeply sorry. But you have to understand. It was completely necessary."

"How did you do it? How did you 'die'" John tried to show the least amount of emotion he could. He didn't want Sherlock to know just how much he could fall apart.

"It's quite simple really. But I'll give you the simplex version as it is obvious you are tired and need rest." Not a very difficult deduction. Even Anderson could do it. "I knew I had to die in order to defeat Moriarty. I had you leave the lab to go to Mrs Hudson's aid. Of course she was perfectly fine. While atop the roof I took a moment to stand on the edge to measure up my fall. I had my homeless network positioned below, some of which were operating and working around a laundry truck, it wasn't difficult to get them to position a laundry bin at the location of my fall. As you arrived from the taxi, I had you stand where I wanted you, out of view of the pavement where I would land. I had you keep your eyes on me to minimise your concentration on your environment. The fall was simple; just aim for the laundry bin and then position myself on the pavement before you reached me. I hired the bike rider to knock you down to ensure me a little more time. The people who came to me aid? Homeless network. I had one of them keep their hand on my neck to guarantee you would only be able to take the pulse on my wrist. But how did I get my pulse to slow down until it was non-existent I hear you ask? Simple. Rubber ball. Under my arm and pressed against my torso. Stopped the pulse to my wrist. I then had people escort me to Molly at the hospital who filled out the relevant paperwork. Of course I needed somewhere to stay so I tracked down my old friend, Lena." Sherlock smiled and looked at John, waiting for his usual 'brilliant' comment. But it didn't come. Instead John kept his eyes away from Sherlock and head down.

"Why now?"

"I presume you mean why did I choose now to tell you I'm alive? Now was the safest time. Moriarty still had his web spread across London, still had his assassins watching your every move. But it has been three years and I'm nearly positive there's only one left. But we'll deal with him at a later date." Sherlock tried his best to meet John's gaze. He eventually chose to kneel down on the floor and bend and twist so he could intercept John's eyes who still had his head down looking at the ground. "John?"

"You look ridiculous, Sherlock." He couldn't help but smile at the other man's undignified positioning.

"Have you forgiven me yet, John?" The detective remained in his bendy position seeing as John refused to move his head.

"Give me five minutes! I've only just found out my best friend, who I thought was dead for three years, has been hiding away in bloody Ireland!"

"Very well." Sherlock stood up, brushed himself off and walked out the room.

John ran his hands through his sandy hair and closed his eyes. He wasn't quite sure if this was actually happening. For so long he's imagined walking into 221b to find Sherlock sat in his usual chair as if nothing's happened or walking down the street past the man or even have the detective turn up at John's door shouting 'I'm alive!'. But never in his life did he think it would actually happen. He never believed that one day he would actually open the door to a room to find the man stood oh so proudly acting like no time has passed at all.

He was thinking of what to do next. He can't stay here for too long, he has a job to return to. Would he be able to go back to London without Sherlock? How long was Sherlock planning on staying here? Will Sherlock ever return to London? He mentioned that it was dangerous for him to go back. When would it be safe?

The doctor started to feel himself dozing off. He didn't realise quite how tired he was.

Before he knew it, Sherlock had strolled back into the room carrying armfuls of duvets and pillows and throwing them at John. "It's been exactly five minutes, John. You asked for five minutes. I gave you five minutes. Lena said you are to sleep on the sofa tonight." The detective sat himself on the armchair opposite John, placing his chin on his steepled fingertips. "I think we can return to Baker Street in two days" he never kept his eyes off John.

The other man sighed. "Okay. And why is that?"

John's question excited Sherlock. "Sebastian Moran! That's why, John! He was Moriarty's right hand man and was the reason I had to go into hiding for so long. Moriarty left him instructions that if I didn't carry out _my_ instructions to kill myself, Moran was to shoot you. Once I completed the illusion that I was dead, I kept away from London, I hid in the shadows in hope that Moran would grow bored and believe I was indeed dead. However, my trusty homeless network has informed me that Moran is still lurking around London so maybe we should go back and confront the man, hopefully get rid of him altogether so I can finally return and get back to actually solving some real cases!"

"I take it you've been bored then." John received an exhausted glare from Sherlock as an answer. "All right then. What about the media? No one's going to want to have you solving their cases if they still believe you're a fraud. People don't forget."

"Oh please. It's easy enough to disprove Moriarty and prove that Richard Brooke never existed. In fact, I've already done it." He removed his old Blackberry from his pocket and throwing it at John who looked at the screen to find an audio file. "It's Moriarty's confession. On the rooftop at Bart's, I played dumb and had him explain his entire plan to me. I recorded the whole thing. Simple enough." The detective stretched over to the coffee table to pick up his laptop without having to stand up. He typed in a web address and turned it around so the screen was facing John. "Not to mention the poster campaign.." he continued clicking the 'next' button to show John a gallery of photos, each showing either a poster or graffiti showing once phrase. 'I believe in Sherlock Holmes'. "... they're all over London, John. A few are located around the nation. I won't have a hard time returning to work. People like me." Sherlock looked up at John, grinning.

John sighed. "Great, just what you need, another ego boost. And I know about the posters, Mrs Hudson's constantly having to remove them from her front door."

"Yes well the sooner I can return to Baker Street, the better. Lena wont let me keep a skull here." And with that, the detective stood up and exited the room leaving John alone under the pile of duvets Sherlock had previously thrown on him.

* * *

><p>John was awoken by the sound of Sherlock murdering his violin. He turned to face the clock on the coffee table. It read 3:13 am. Bloody brilliant. He threw the duvet off him and stood up, stretching his back, before striding upstairs to Sherlock's room as fast as he could using whatever energy he had.<p>

"Sherlock, what in God's name are you doing?" He had to shout over the music.

"Evidently, I'm playing my violin. I can't think and I'm bored" replied the other man who in turn, had to shout over what he called music.

"It's three in the bloody morning! I'm starting to wish you had stayed dead!"

Sherlock simply smiled knowing full well what he was doing to the doctor.

The door behind John was thrown open by a very unhappy Lena who strolled up to Sherlock, snatched his violin bow from his hands and snapped it in half before leaving the room, slamming the door shut so hard, John was surprised it didn't fall off the hinges. John turned around to face Sherlock expecting the other man to retaliate in some extravagant manner. But Sherlock merely sighed before bending down to his violin case and pulling out another bow. "After the third time she did that, I learnt to purchase a stash of them" he said as he brought the new bow up to the strings of his violin and continued to play.

"Sherlock... for the love of God. Stop" moaned John. Bloody hell, he was tired.

"Not good?" replied Sherlock as he lowered the violin.

"Definitely not good." As John turned to leave the room and retire to his makeshift bed downstairs, he looked at Sherlock who had placed the violin back in it's place and collapsed on his bed throwing a strop about how bored he was. John smiled. The last three years had been torture and boy, was he going to make Sherlock pay for what he did to John. But right now, the doctor was simply happy to have his friend back.

* * *

><p><em>Okay, so the first chapter is up :) This took me a few days so expect the next one in around that time. I'm aiming to have each chapter this long. <em>

_Anyway, I hope you liked it :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you all for for following this :) I really appreciate it._

_Again; obvious disclaimers go here._

* * *

><p>John woke up from the best nights sleep he had in ages. Despite sleeping on a relatively uncomfortable sofa and being rudely awoken at a ridiculous time of the night, he woke up feeling fairly refreshed.<p>

He sat on the edge of the sofa and placed his head in his hands while processing the events of the day before. There were still so many unanswered questions but they were all ones he knew would be answered soon so today John decided to take things easy and for the first time in three years, relax.

Once he got dressed and tidied his makeshift bed, he made his way to the kitchen where he found Lena sat on the kitchen counter indulging in a large bowl of brightly coloured cereal.

"You're not as professional as I first thought." He was pretty sure he was meant to think that, not say it out loud.

Lena laughed. "Sherlock told me you were more likely to follow me if you thought I was one of Mycroft's. So I had to look smart and think about what I said before I said it. And it worked" she grinned at John then went back to concentrating on her breakfast. They both sat in comfortable silence for a while as John made himself and Sherlock a cup of tea who was bound to join them in a minute.

"So..." said John, trying to break the silence. "What is it you do?" he asked Lena.

"Forensics. I think that's why Sherlock chose to stay with me and not anyone else. He must have thought I could bring my work home and let him have a go."

"Surely you could have let him in a bit to stop him being bored. He's less annoying when he's happy." John smiled at the many memories he had of Sherlock being genuinely happy because of a good case. A lot of the time his outbursts of joy were rather inappropriate due to the conditions of what was going on, but that's what John remembered the most.

"And have him call me an idiot? No thanks. If he's bored, that's his problem." She smiled as she placed her now empty bowl in the sink beside he. She turned to face John, grinning, swinging her legs looking almost childish. "How about a drink later? I'll show you the wonders Belfast has to offer. Well -" she paused to let out a chuckle. " - I say _wonders_, it's more like 'come see how many shitty pubs we have'"

John thought about it for a moment. He shouldn't really. But what harm can it do to go out for a few drinks? He may be able to get Lena to tell some of her Sherlock stories from the past three years. "Yeah. Alright. Sounds good." He smiled back at her then took a gulp of his tea.

"Cool" she said as she hopped off the kitchen counter. "I'm going to get ready for work but I'll see you back here at one? I'll take you to the shittiest pub I know. If you want to use the shower at all, make sure you put the cork in the pipe by the shower head, Sherlock spilt acid on it last year and made a hole and I can't be arsed to get it fixed. The cork works fine" she said as she waved John goodbye and headed upstairs.

As she left to go upstairs; Sherlock made his way down wearing his blue dressing gown. He joined John in the kitchen and reached for the now luke warm tea that John had made him earlier. "Morning" was all he muttered before he reached for the newspaper and sat at the table.

John watched Sherlock's expressions as he flipped through the pages. When it came to the headlines about local missing persons and the updates on a few murders which occurred in the city, the detective muttered to himself, commenting on how the missing girl ran away with her teacher and the murders were an insurance scam made by the brother.

After five minutes of this, Sherlock finally shouted: "It wasn't suicide! The son was a keen sailor and knows how to tie knots! Of course he's familiar with a noose! How would the mother know to tie one!" at an article on a suicide case then threw the paper across the table. "Honestly John, the police force here are just as idiotic as the journalists writing these articles."

"Everyone's an idiot to you" replied the doctor as he pulled himself a chair opposite Sherlock and sat down. "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Who else knows? That you're alive, I mean." John used his left hand to support his cheek sleepily, the events of being rudely awoken the night before finally catching up on him.

"Only Molly and Mrs Hudson"

"Mrs Hudson?"

"Yes. Mrs Hudson. Didn't you hear me the first time?" The detective rolled his eyes and stood up to open the fridge to look inside, he frowned. "I had a frog in a takeaway container in here. Have you seen it? It's very important"

"Why did Mrs Hudson know and not me?" John felt a little insulted that the other man chose to confide in his landlady and not himself.

"Huh? Oh. Well I knew you wouldn't want to live in 221b for a while and I didn't want anyone else living it in. I wanted it in the same state I had left it in so I've been continuing to pay Mrs Hudson the rent money each month. Really John, you didn't really expect her to be able to afford to leave it empty all this time did you?" the taller man replied while continuing to search the fridge. "Now where's that frog? I had injected it with a serum to reduce the effects of rigor mortis completely and I would like to see the effects."

"I haven't seen your damn frog, Sherlock" John sighed and stood up to retreat to the living room where he collapsed on the sofa and ran his hands through his sandy hair.

"John? What's the matter, John?" Sherlock abandoned his hunt for his frog and followed John.

"This is just a lot to take in. You're acting like nothing's changed. Like you expect me to carry on like normal"

Sherlock nudged Johns feet off the sofa and sat in their place. "But everything is normal. Well, expect that everyone here has Irish accents." He gave John his confused look. The one that makes him seem about ten years younger and so much more naïve. John couldn't help but smile. He was right. It was weird but things did seem normal. He had been here less than twenty four hours and everything felt... right. But John wanted to be angry. He wanted to punch Sherlock repeatedly and let him know just how much pain he had been through. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs and shout profanities at Sherlock's face. But he couldn't. He took one look at his friend and his pain and anger melted away. He was constantly having to stop himself from reaching out and taking the other man's sleeve into his grip just to make sure he's still there.

In fact, he did. He sat up and ran his fingertips over Sherlock's arm. He then pinched the fabric of his dressing gown sleeve and tugged it just a little.

Yep. Sherlock was still there. Still alive.

The detective watched John and smiled. "Fancy coming to the police station with me? It's been a few days since I asked if they needed my help and if I bring you with me this time they might believe I'm being serious" Sherlock smiled.

John chuckled and released Sherlock's sleeve. "I can't. I'm going for a drink with Lena in a bit"

"Lena? Where? Why? When? Why?" John watched as Sherlock's eyebrows rose and lowered with confusion, concern, displeasement, worry and confusion again with each question.

"Because she asked me and I said yes"

"Yes but why?"

"Because after the events of the past twenty something hours, I could really do with a drink." John sat back and watched Sherlock's thought process which he found most entertaining.

"Oh. Alright" Sherlock finally said before getting up and retiring to his bedroom. John heard the door slam from the upper floor and laughed. Sherlock really was a five year old child especially when he stormed off in a tantrum.

* * *

><p>John and Lena sat in the corner of a very busy Belfast pub. They had been there for about forty minutes and John was surprised to find that he was enjoying himself. This was the first time in three years he had let himself go and relax. When he returns to London, everyone will probably notice his change in attutude. No doubt they'll link that to Sherlock 'resurrection' and is bound to encourage people to talk again.<p>

Their conversation had found its way to Sherlock and what he was like at university since John had no idea about Sherlock's past before he came into his life.

"He was pretty much like he is now. Very reclusive, impossibly rude and never gave a damn about anyone. And I had the joy of working with him" Lena laughed. She had really started to loosen up after her third or so pint.

"What about girlfriends or boyfriends? Anything like that?" John himself had become more giddy as time passed and the number of empty Guinness glasses increased.

Lena shook her head and laughed. "Nothing. I tried to make a pass of him once. Phew was _that_ a mistake"

"You what? What did he do?"

"I know! What was I thinking?" she laughed into her now empty glass. "He looked quite frightened. I like, leaned into him and he squirmed away and kept stuttering about how he had to leave. Looking back, it's quite funny. He called me an 'enemy' after that and only spoke to me when he had to. Even now, he tries to avoid me. Bless him" she smiled.

John smiled back. He could imagine Sherlock doing that much like he was with Irene Adler. Clueless.

Lena looked past John and her smile faded. "Oh joy."

John turned around to face the direction she was looking. Worming his way through the crowd of people and heading towards them was Sherlock.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here?" asked John was wasn't sure whether or not he was glad at Sherlock's presence.

"The same thing you are, John. Having a drink with a friend." He smiled but it wasn't one of his genuine smiles. It was one of his fake ones he gives to someone to please them. As soon as they look away, his face turns blank once again. But after a few seconds his smile fell and he simply stared at John who hadn't looked away from Sherlock.

After a few seconds of this, Lena coughed and spoke up. "Sherlock? Drink?" Sherlock nodded at her. "John?" John nodded too, mirroring Sherlock. "Right. Well I'll leave you ladies to it." she said as she stood up and made her way to the bar. With the amount of people trying to order at the same time as her, she'd be gone for a while.

"Seriously Sherlock. What are you doing?"

"Well Lena has always had a bad record when it comes to men and dating" Sherlock draped his arm across the back of his chair.

"Okay. Well this isn't a date. And since when do you care about other people?"

"I don't." He sheepishly looked away from John, taking off his scarf and removing his coat.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Simply making sure she doesn't rope you into her tragically dull life"

"I'm not interested in her if that's what you mean."

"Oh." Sherlock seemed surprised. When it came to pretty women, John usually seemed interested. "Well... that's good". Sherlock turned his attention to the window, looking outside at passers by. He sighed. The real reason he was here is because for the first time he could remember, he felt lonely. He spent the whole of yesterday with John and when he left to go to the pub he felt an emptiness about him. When he waited for Lena to go to London and bring him to the house he spent the entire day creating different scenarios in his head for when John saw him for the first time. Of course the most likely scene Sherlock invented was the same scene that happened - John in disbelief then Sherlock receiving a fist to the jaw. There was one much more far fetched scenario which Sherlock immediately dismissed and blamed it in his separation from John all this time.

The silence that fell upon them both felt a little awkward. John didn't know why. He looked over at Sherlock who wasn't looking at him. He put the awkwardness down to them being away from each other for so long.

The vibration of John's phone on the table made him jump. He looked at the screen to see who was calling.

"Shit!" John scrambled to answer the phone. "Hello? Yes hello... I'm so sorry." He stood up to move the call outside. "I'm sorry but you won't believe this!" Sherlock heard him say before he left the pub. The man looked out the window and moved a little so he could see John then tried to deduct who had him so panicked.

The look on his face when he saw who was calling was that of a guilty man. It must have been someone he was meant to call or someone who didn't know his whereabouts due to his abrupt departure from London. So someone he spoke to daily, anyone else wouldn't find it odd if he hadn't spoken to them today. Not someone from work – they know he'll be away for some time. Family? Probably not. The only family he has now is Harry and Sherlock doubts that their relationship grew closer during his absence. His comment before he left the pub – 'you won't believe this' – must be referring to Sherlock since the reveal that he was alive is the only unbelievable thing to have happened to John since leaving London. His psychiatrist maybe? Perhaps he missed his appointment and she was calling to find out where he was. Sherlock thought about it. It was unlikely that John was still seeing a psychiatrist after three years. He hated his psychiatrist.

"Where's John?" Sherlock turned around to see Lena place three glasses onto the table. The detective nodded towards the window and turned his attention back to John. "Who's he talking to?" Sherlock shrugged as a response. "Girlfriend maybe?"

Sherlock turned to face Lena so quickly he nearly pulled a muscle in his neck. "John doesn't have a girlfriend." The man turned back to the window and pressed his face up against the pane trying to get the best view of John who was still on the phone.

"Maybe it's the girl who he mentioned on his blog" said Lena as she took a swig from her pint.

"What girl?" Lena could hardly hear him due to the fact he was practically talking into the window.

"He's been talking about her for a year now. More or less anyway. How could you not have read that? You're always on his blog."

"I may have deemed it boring. Sixty three percent of what he writes is irrelevant." He watched John hang up and enter the pub again, trying to find his way back to their table.

"Sorry about that." He sat down in his seat and reached for his drink, thanking Lena for getting it.

"Who was that?" Sherlock's expression reminded John of a wounded puppy. He wasn't sure why the detective looked so upset.

"That was Mary." John smiled.

"Who's Mary?"

"I've been seeing her for over a year now. In the excitement of things I didn't tell her I was here."

"Ah. Well... good. That's good" Sherlock reached for his drink a took a sip. He frowned and put it down again. He wasn't one for alcohol as it slowed down the thinking process. He wasn't planning on picking it up again. "Wait... are you living with this woman?"

"Err no I'm not."

"Good. Then it'll be no problem for you to return to Baker Street"

John rolled his eyes and smiled. He had expected he'd be living with Sherlock again from the moment he saw the detective yesterday. Whether or not Mary will be happy with it is a completely different matter. John had indeed grown fond of Mary and did have plans to one day maybe take the next step in their relationship but in the meantime 221B seemed very welcoming.

* * *

><p>Sherlock woke up the next morning with much excitement. Today was the day he would return to London. Since he had his suspicions that Sebastian Moran was the last remaining member of Moriarty's assassination team - or his 'web' as Sherlock liked to call it – it shouldn't be too difficult to find him, talk to him and maybe take him out of the picture.<p>

Because John had been sleeping on the sofa, Sherlock woke up in his bed which wasn't the norm for the detective, usually he sleeps where he falls which is often on the sofa. He wrapped his robe around himself and made his way downstairs. He had already started packing his possessions last night when they got back from the pub which proved to be very boring in the end. Sherlock didn't own many things at Lena's house, mainly a selection of tailored suits and a pile of notebooks containing his findings from his array of experiments so it took less than ten minutes for Sherlock to throw everything into a case or two.

Sherlock made his way into the living room to find a sleeping John. He was stretched across the sofa with one arm dangling off the edge and the other draped across his chest. Sherlock sat on the armchair opposite and watched his friend sleep peacefully. Before he met John he had never considered anyone to be a friend. Then when the good doctor stumbled into his life he found the new collection of emotions confusing and often a little frightening. He always thought of emotion as a weakness; something that got both you and the people you care about in trouble. But after a while he found it was worth it. In John's case it was better having a close friend. Sherlock needed John.

So when Moriarty threatened to kill John – as well as Lestrade and Mrs Hudson – Sherlock felt as though he had no choice. John had risked his life to save the detective more times than he can remember, it was just unfortunate that one of the times Sherlock had the opportunity to save John, it meant having to die.

It was obvious to Sherlock what John had gone through during the detectives absence. The evidence was written in his blogs. Before Sherlock travelled to Ireland he went to see John, out of sight, stood by his grave. As often as people joke about Sherlock being heartless, a robot and having no emotion – it took everything in his strength not to run to John when he saw him crying.

Sherlock started to grow increasingly bored as he sat there waiting for John to wake up. He contemplated waking the man up but quickly realising it was ten to seven he decided against it knowing how irate John can get when prematurely woken.

As a distraction, Sherlock reached for a rubix cube on the coffee table next to his chair. Lena had bought it for him after she grew tired of his complaining and still believes to this day that Sherlock has solved it at least seven times when in fact he has failed to ever complete the puzzle. For the first five minutes it always cures his case of boredom but then it get irritating and ridiculous and he often ends up throwing it across the room. Which was the case for Sherlock this morning.

"What a stupid contraption" he said as he slammed it back on the table with anger.

"Admitting defeat are you?" Sherlock's antics had appeared to wake John. The doctor stirred about on the sofa getting tangled in the blankets but too tired to care.

"I'll have you know I've solved the puzzle seven times." Sherlock picked the toy up again waving it around as if to not let it have the final word.

"That's a lie. What time is it?" John could hardly open his eyes.

"It's time to wake up, John. Our plane departs for Heathrow at twelve noon. The airport insists that we be there two hours beforehand so we are to leave in roughly three hours." The detective stood up and yanked at the duvet covering John to try to fully wake him. "Come on, John. I want to go home"

"We have ages to go, Sherlock. Leave me in peace. God, you're like a child on Christmas morning." Despite his comment, John decided he was awake enough to start getting up. He slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. He threw the duvet of himself and was immediately met by the chilly air and regretting his decision. Due to the fact John was practically kidnapped without warning of where he was going or for how long, the doctor found himself without any clothes other than the ones he was wearing so the man had to borrow some of Sherlock's clothes to sleep in while Lena threw his own outfit in the machine to wash overnight. Although the taller man's clothes were much too big for John who was considerably shorter, they were extremely comfortable to sleep in and Sherlock found himself staring at John while he tidied his makeshift bed. There was something oddly satisfying in seeing him in his clothing. Sherlock made sure to make a note of that so he could investigate it further later.

After what felt like days of Sherlock fidgeting with excitement, John thought it was best to leave a little earlier for the airport. It would mean Sherlock would be insanely bored waiting at the terminal but at least there he can busy himself with people watching, something he hadn't been able to do much due to not leaving the house very often.

The journey back to London was almost painful for John. Sherlock bought a display of 'disguises' with him to cover his face in fear of being recognised as a dead man walking and was frankly embarrassing John by changing hats every five minutes – none of which being a deerstalker – and making deductions about people out loud with them still in earshot. John had lost count of times he had said 'not good' to the other man during their journey.

During their cab ride from Heathrow to Baker Street, Sherlock was looking out the window counting how many 'I believe in Sherlock' posters he could see. By the time they got to 221B Sherlock had seen twenty six and was extremely confident about his return to the living.

John was left to pay the taxi man and take Sherlock's bags as the man himself ran to the door of 221B and let himself in using his old key. John quickly followed behind.

By the time John was inside the hallway, Sherlock had already ran upstairs and was inspecting the flat to make sure nothing had been touched and Mrs Hudson was already stood up the stairs with her hand on her chest looking a little angry.

"For God's sake Sherlock Holmes! You could have called me to say you were coming home! You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack!" she shouted up after him.

"Hello Mrs Hudson." John greeted her with a hug once he had dumped Sherlock's things on the stairs.

"Hello, dear. That boy is going to be the death of me. I had gotten used the the facade of having him dead and now he just strolls in without a word. How are you, dear? How did you take it?" She motioned her head upstairs towards Sherlock's general direction.

"Oh better than some people will" John replied.

Within seconds, Sherlock ran back down the stairs wearing his usual attire, heading for the door. "Come along, John."

"Where the hell do you think you're going? Don't forget that the world still thinks you're dead." John felt like facepalming at Sherlock's stupidity.

"Scotland Yard, John! I'm home!" replied Sherlock as he opened the front door and attempted to hail a taxi.

"Not good, Sherlock. Definitely not good!" John shouted as he ran after his, once again, flat mate.

* * *

><p><em>So I hope it was alright. Not much of a plot, I know but there will be. I promise.<em>

_I love you if you're reading this. I'd love you eight times more if you reviewed :)_


	3. Chapter 3

_Obvious Disclaimers go here :)_

* * *

><p>It took John twenty minutes to convince Sherlock that strolling into Scotland Yard and giving Lestrade a heart attack wasn't his best idea. It took him another fifteen to convince him that staying in the flat for a while would be a good one.<p>

It had been four days and Sherlock was driving John mad. A year ago, John would have given anything to be woken up at four in the morning by Sherlock's violin but now that John had the man back, he wanted to kill him.

John still found it hard to believe Sherlock was back and he found it weird that things felt normal. Of course there were times when the doctor needed a minute to himself when he felt the pain of the past three years catch up on him but then he remembered his friend was home. He was home. And everything was good. So things were normal. And that was good.

John's plan was to get Molly to break the news to Lestrade then have him come over to see for himself much like Lena did to John. That way Lestrade could get used to the idea before confronting the detective. Sherlock agreed it was a good idea. The problem however was that Molly was in Somerset visiting her sister and wouldn't be home for another week so for the time being, it was best to keep Sherlock hidden.

Sherlock had been laying on the sofa for the past five hours waiting for John to return. He had gone to see Mary as he has everyday since their return to London. Sherlock didn't like Mary but he wasn't sure why. He had never met her, how could he form an impression about someone before having the chance to deduce whether or not they were worth his time? However, he had no desire to meet the woman so it didn't matter either way.

"Sherlock?" John called from the hallway. "Give me a hand?" from the sounds of it he was carrying the shopping. Five bags at the most. At the pace he was going Sherlock guessed they were heavy. He didn't attempt to get up though. "Or you know, I can manage"

"You've been gone for five hours and fifty eight minutes" Sherlock stated.

"And your point is?" John dumped the bags on the kitchen table, not bothering to clear it of Sherlock's latest experiments which involved a mass amount of human hair.

"What took you so long if you were only getting five bags worth of shopping?" Sherlock stood up and glided over to John.

"You know I was with Mary the whole time. I told you before I left. It's not my fault you weren't listening" John smiled as he used Sherlock's favourite excuse. "Speaking of which, she's coming over for dinner tomorrow night so move your experiments to your room otherwise I'm throwing them away"

"What? Why?"

"Why do you have to move your experiments or why is Mary coming round? What are you asking?" John went around the kitchen moving Sherlock's experiments with great disgust.

"Why is she coming round? I don't want her to" Sherlock pouted.

"I'd actually quite like you to meet her and she'd like to meet you. I've talked about you enough, now she wants to meet the man behind the stories." John had finished clearing as much of the kitchen as he could and retired to his chair.

Sherlock followed him and flopped on the sofa, turning so he was facing away from John. "I don't want to meet her" he mumbled so it was barely audible but John, however, still heard him.

"And why is that?" John couldn't help but smile at the consulting five-year-old. He watched the detective for a few minutes and tried to stifle his laughter. "You don't know do you? You're just being stubborn to annoy me"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shuffled off the sofa then walked straight past John and into his room without saying a word. John was right; Sherlock didn't know why he didn't want to meet Mary. And this infuriated him.

He sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers steepled under his chin, his gaze fixed on the floor while he went through his head to find reasons why he didn't trust this woman.

It wasn't unusual for Sherlock to distrust people but he had always been able to deduce reasons why when he met them. He hasn't met Mary yet. He didn't even know anything about her. He didn't know what she did for a living, he didn't know where she lived and he didn't even know her surname. All he knew was she had been dating John for over a year. That's it. It must have something to do with John. Before the Fall, John had attempted to date quite a few women but Sherlock had always got in the way one way or another. Why though? Was it possessiveness? Jealousy? Possibly.

Sherlock fell backwards and sprawled across his bed, closing his eyes. Perhaps the problem was the possibility of this woman taking John away from Sherlock. Statistics show that couples tend to take the next step of their relationship around the one year mark which in John and Mary's case is to live with each other. If that were to happen, it would leave Sherlock alone again. He had grown quite fond of his blogger.

During their three years separation, Sherlock found it surprisingly hard being away from John. And now that he had him back and things were good again, Sherlock wasn't keen to let him go again especially to a woman who Sherlock knew nothing about. If this woman were to ask John to live with her, Sherlock had no doubt he'd accept, after all, he wasn't the easiest person to live with. But it was obvious that Sherlock was better for John to be with. Sherlock was the reason the doctor had stopped limping. In his absence, it returned. Mary didn't even have the decency to figure out it was psychosomatic and attempt to provide John with the means to cure it.

Maybe John just needed showing how this woman isn't suited for him and how Sherlock is in every way.

Sherlock sat up and nodded to himself. He was going to show John how he is the perfect substitution for Mary.

* * *

><p>The next morning John came downstairs to find Sherlock actually cleaning. It may not have been what normal people call cleaning but for Sherlock this was amazing.<p>

The man had his head in the fridge and was throwing things out of it and over his shoulder in the general direction of the bin. Although he was making more of a mess than he was clearing one seeing as his aim wasn't very good. John looked around to see that the majority of Sherlock's experiments had been cleared and it was actually starting to look like a flat inhabited by two normal humans rather than Sherlock.

"Sherlock? What the hell are you doing?" John stood behind the other man, making him jump a little. His observation skills obviously weren't up to scratch this morning.

"Ah John! I'm cleaning! You asked me to clear my experiments and I though I'd go one further and tidy the entire flat" he smiled sweetly.

"Okay... why? Have you done something that you're afraid to tell me?" The fact that Sherlock was doing something productive made John a little suspicious.

"I haven't done anything. I'm doing something nice for you and you wouldn't want Mary thinking you live like one of my homeless network" Sherlock said as he threw a jar of god-knows-what near the bin. It missed and smashed on the floor. John held his nose and walked into the living room to get away from the mess-in-progress.

"So you're up for meeting her then?" John sat in his armchair and reached for todays paper. Apparently Sherlock had also popped to the shop this morning to buy one. Something was very wrong...

"Oh no, I couldn't care less" Sherlock smiled over at John who in return laughed to himself.

"I was starting to worry"

"What?"

"You. Cleaning, buying the paper, being... _nice_. I was starting to worry there was something wrong with you. But you've just reassured me with that comment" John chuckled. At least Sherlock was acting _a bit_ normal.

The amount of noise coming from the kitchen amused John greatly. It was clear Sherlock had never cleaned a day in his life. John rolled his eyes and stood up, making his way over to Sherlock who was now trying to get the remains off the oven (an experiment went very wrong a couple of days earlier and rendered the oven out of order) and wasn't making a good job of it. John knelt besides him and watched the other man who was getting more and more agitated as time went on and the stains remained.

"Sherlock... you can stop y'know. I don't care if the place it spotless, I just don't want Mary close to vomiting when she arrives." John placed a hand on Sherlock's back and patted him lightly.

Sherlock frowned as John laughed and stood up. This wasn't working. Sherlock thought that if he presented himself as the perfect flatmate then John would essentially forget all about Mary and no one would ever come between the two of them and Sherlock could return to solving cases and everything would be perfect. But cleaning was a little too out of character for Sherlock, he'd never be able to convince John he was just doing it to be nice. And besides, it proved to be a tedious task that bored Sherlock to death.

Sherlock needed to find a new way to make sure John wouldn't leave him. How though, he wasn't quite sure.

* * *

><p>When Mary arrived that evening, John wasn't surprised to find Sherlock hiding in his bedroom, refusing to come out. All he could do was apologise.<p>

"I'm sorry about Sherlock. I swear he's a five-year-old child" John smiled and brought Mary into the living room.

"It's fine" she replied warmly. "A lot of the kids I teach are the same. Granted, they are _actually_ five-year-olds." Both her and John started laughing as they relaxed onto the sofa and John handed her a glass of wine.

Sherlock, however, was sat on his bed with his laptop, literally Googling 'How to make your friend break up with their girlfriend'. After his idea of attempting to be the best flatmate ever failed, Sherlock was out of ideas. He freely admitted to himself that social convention was not his subject at all. Before John he didn't consider himself to be one to ever have friends so he never tried to understand social boundaries or situations. He didn't even know what could and could not offend people before John taught him.

So here Sherlock was, consulting the internet for help on how to ensure his relationship with John remained strong and without anyone interfering. It was easy before the Fall because Sherlock always interrupted potential relationships for John at the early stages so the woman didn't feel too emotionally attached to John when she got put off because of Sherlock. But now that John had established a stable relationship with this Mary woman, it would be a lot more difficult to come between them.

After an hour, the results of the afternoon's search were debatable. The majority of the information Sherlock wanted came from _Yahoo!Answers_ which he knew was very unreliable, but he was desperate.

Everyone pretty much said the same thing which was along the lines of: 'Show them you're a better replacement... Slyly make your way closer to them... Make them doubt their relationship with the other person by being better...'

All of them (_obviously written by inexperienced thirteen-year-old girls_ thought Sherlock) were useless to him. None of them went into depth about how to achieve his goal.

So Sherlock concluded that he'd try on his own without anymore internet help (it wasn't overly helpful) and if he truly got stuck then he'd find a way of asking John what he finds in the perfect partner. He'd try anything to make sure John doesn't leave him.

When Sherlock emerged from his room he made his way to the kitchen where he saw Mary leaning against the kitchen counter smiling, with John pressed up close against her, kissing her neck. Sherlock frowned and cleared this throat loudly making the couple jump and quickly turn to face him, a little embarrassed.

"Err, Sherlock. Hey. Erm... this is Mary. Mary this is Sherlock." John was obviously nervous. Probably due to the fact he felt like a teenager getting caught by his parents again.

Mary smiled. "Hello, Sherlock. It's lovely to finally meet you. John's told me so many wonderful things." She reached her hand out and offered it to Sherlock as a greeting. Sherlock, however, turned his nose up at her and walked straight past her to the kettle which he filled up and turned on.

"Sherlock?" John frowned at his friend. "Seriously not good" he said a little quieter knowing that Sherlock could still hear him but Mary could not.

Sherlock smirked and decided to play nice. At least as nice as he possibly could. He turned around to face Mary. "It's lovely to meet you, Mary. Now I presume you wont be staying long. Maybe you have some tests to mark due to your job as a teacher. Or perhaps go and visit your Father – he's very ill because of his raging alcohol abuse, currently in hospital with massive liver failure. He'll be alright, don't worry, but it wont stop him drinking. Or maybe you have some divorce papers to sign. Oh but of course, you never actually went ahead with the wedding. Shame. Given the exception of his adultery, you two made the perfect couple" Sherlock's decision to 'play nice' didn't last very long as the temptation was too much.

John placed his hands to his face and groaned into them. He really should have expected that.

Mary simply smiled. "Yes. John told me you do that. Very impressive."

"Really?"

"Yes. You forgot to mention my miscarriage four years ago though. Or were you saving that as a fantastic sting later?" She smiled and excused herself to the bathroom politely leaving Sherlock a little dumbstruck and John feeling extremely relieved.

"You know what. That went better than I had anticipated" John looked at Sherlock who still looked fairly shocked. "I think you've met your match, mate." John patted the other man on the shoulder before pouring another glass of wine and handing it to Sherlock.

"What?" Sherlock shook his head to bring him back to the present.

"I mean she's one of the few people that don't want to break your nose when you do that. In fact, she gave you more ammunition. I knew there was a reason why I liked her." John couldn't help but grin.

"I don't like her, John."

"Tough."

"I want her our of our home."

"Tough."

"I don't even know why you insisted on inviting her over."

"Because she's the woman that I love and I wanted her to meet my best friend."

"Well there. She's met me. Now ask her to leave." He was acting like a child but he didn't care.

"Sherlock, please, you're acting like a petulant child. It would mean a lot to me if you tried."

"Fine." Sherlock rolled his eyes and took a rather large sip of the wine John had given him. He frowned out of disgust of the drink but carried on taking small sips anyway.

Three hours and several glasses of wine later, the three of them were sat at the table eating the lasagne John had made earlier and to John's surprise, Sherlock hadn't said or done anything to offend anyone so far. In fact he hadn't said a word. He simply sat there finishing nearly two bottles of wine to himself. John was dreading the moment the man decided to speak. The alcohol would surely inflame his usual characteristics.

"So... Sherlock. Do you have any interesting cases coming up?" Mary politely asked.

John braced himself when he noticed Sherlock finally decided to voice himself.

"Actually. No. Not allowed. You see, Mary. When people think you're dead, it's bloody difficult to make them... unthink you're dead." The detective scowled to himself, trying to work out whether or not the word "unthink" was actually a word. He hated the effect alcohol had on the brain. It slowed everything down so much it was nearly painful, hence his silence throughout dinner, he was simply trying to work out how to make himself do things again. "So in conclusion... no."

"Well I very much look forward to the day when you do. John's blog isn't as much fun to read without your adventures." Mary smiled sweetly and stood up. "I should probably be going. It's getting late and I have some work to do before tomorrow"

"Or you know, you could stay?" John asked hopefully.

Mary looked from John, to Sherlock, and then back to John. "It's fine. Another time maybe."

John sighed and turned to look at Sherlock who didn't have time to wipe the glare he was giving to Mary from his face before John looked at him. Sherlock smirked innocently as he met John's gaze who gave Sherlock the same look a mother would give her misbehaving child.

The doctor stood up and walked Mary downstairs to the door. As he did, Sherlock shot up and ran to the stairs clumsily in order to listen to their goodbyes from the door. He couldn't hear much and he was concentrating more on trying not to fall over than he was trying to hear what they were saying. After a while he gave up and sat on one of the stairs with very little grace.

"That could have gone worse"

Sherlock looked up to find John stood in front of him, offering him a hand to help him stand up.

"You underestimate me, John. I was wonderfully lovely. Yep." Sherlock's legs felt wobbily underneath him and he had to rely mostly on John to help him walk. God, he hated alcohol. "I don't like her, y'know!"

"I know, you've said." John decided that the sofa would be the best place for Sherlock tonight. It would be too much effort to get him to bed.

"John... John..." Sherlock wriggled onto the sofa so he was curled up into a ball. "John... I've missed you."

John smiled and reached out for the blanked which was on the arm of the sofa. He laid it over Sherlock softly. "I've missed you too, mate. Now get some sleep. Your head is going to be murdering you tomorrow."

Once John left Sherlock sleeping happily on the sofa, he made his way upstairs to his room where he stripped off his jeans and jumper so he was in his underwear and t-shirt then crawled under the covers, absolutely shattered.

The evening had actually gone a lot better than he thought it would. Mary hadn't broken up with him due to his freaky flatmate and his meddling and Sherlock hadn't offended anyone too greatly. Well, he tried. But he didn't succeed which was the important thing.

Just before John finally fell asleep, he felt the mattress behind him sink as Sherlock perched himself on the edge of the bed.

"Sherlock... what the hell are you doing?" John was too tired to care but he thought he'd better ask.

"I was thinking, John..." Sherlock turned around and squirmed underneath the covers so that he was lying next to John. "What do you reckon he sees in her?" Sherlock's speech was slurred and four times slower than his usual speed in which he spoke.

John sighed out of exasperation. "Who sees in who?"

"John and that woman. I don't like her. She's trying to take my John"

"Sherlock, you do realise who you're talking to right now don't you?"

"I'm rubbish with things like this, John"

"Rubbish? You? Wow you really must have had a lot to drink" John chuckled softly to himself. He hardly had the energy to do anything else.

"Does John like that woman more than me? In the same way, I mean"

"Same way?" John paused. He panicked a little. What was he getting at?

Sherlock mumbled a noise which was barely audible before he rolled a little close to John, clutching onto his shirt.

"Sherlock, I can't hear you" John tried to move away from his flatmate's grasp but failed. If he moved anymore he'd fall off the bed.

"I said I feel sick."

"Don't you dare throw up. I will kill you if you do." John turned over to see Sherlock who had fallen asleep, still clinging to John's shirt. _I suppose he's sleeping here tonight then_ thought John. Weirdly enough, he didn't mind.

_So I apologise for the wait on this one. I had no inspiration at all. I also apologise for the declining quality of this chapter. You can probably pinpoint the moment I started to fall asleep. But I was determined to get this uploaded tonight before I go to sleep!_


	4. Chapter 4

_First of all, I have a massive apology to make. I've apologised before but this one is a biggun. However, I have a valid excuse. My laptop completely died about two weeks ago. So I lost everything I had already written for this chapter and I had to wait for a new laptop to get here so I could start re-writting. I'm so very sorry and I will be more punctual in the future :)_

* * *

><p>When Sherlock woke up, he found his arm wrapped tightly around his flatmate's waist and their bodies against each other. John started to stir and Sherlock remained frozen where he was. He couldn't imagine John would be too happy if he woke up in their current position. However, he didn't move.<p>

Sherlock observed the sleeping doctor and couldn't help but smile. John's hair was messy with sleep and his face was peaceful. His t-shirt had ridden up slightly so a little bit of flesh was on display and he had obviously kicked the duvet about in his sleep because it was hardly covering him meaning his thighs were exposed.

Sherlock felt himself get hot and he felt a weight in his stomach. He had to swiftly move away from John without waking him and out of bed when he realised he was getting aroused. He moved all too quickly and became dizzy. The fact that he had drunk nearly two bottles of wine the night before didn't help. His head felt like someone had filled it with concrete then used a hammer to smash it. His movement shocked his body and he fell to the floor with a crash, making his head feel a hundred times worse.

"John?" He curled up in a ball on the floor after realising that standing took too much effort. "John!"

The other man groaned and shuffled about so he could see Sherlock. "What are you doing?" he said sleepily. He closed his eyes with exhaustion.

"John, I'm dying." Sherlock ran his hands through his curls and clutched his head. He very rarely got ill despite his habit of hardly sleeping and his poor diet. He very rarely got aroused as well so today was proving to be one a little less normal to what the man knew.

"Oh for God's sake, Sherlock. You're not dying you're just hungover. And I'm not bloody surprised." It took John every effort to swing his legs off the edge of the bed and compose himself enough to stand up. He yawned and ruffled his hair with his hand before trundling out the room.

When he returned five minutes later Sherlock had pulled the covers off the bed and wrapped himself in them, still lying on the floor. John handed him a glass of fizzy water and two tablets of paracetamol. "Here, take this"

Sherlock eyed it suspiciously. "It's fizzy" he stated.

"That's because I put something in it to settle your stomach. Drink it. Doctor's orders." Sherlock took a swig before pulling a disgusted face and swallowing the tablets. "Now get out of my room. I have to get ready for work."

Sherlock moaned and clambered to his feet, using the edge of the bed to sturdy himself. He shuffled his way out of the room and closed the door and as he did, he turned back to John who hadn't waited until Sherlock was fully out of the room to start removing his clothing.

Once Sherlock was downstairs, he collapsed face-first onto the sofa, still with John's blanket around himself. He shut his eyes and evaluated the morning.

He had quite obviously started to become aroused when he was pressed up against John in bed. That hardly ever happened. It wasn't that he found sex repulsive or anything, he just never desired it. His brother used to tease about Sherlock being a virgin which was far from the truth. Sherlock had indeed had sex, with both men and woman whilst he was at university but it was purely for the experience, he had to gather data in order to be able to understand other people's motives. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy it because at the time his body had taken his mind and his pleasure sensors were too strong to not feel its benefit but he never seeked it out recreationally.

He had never even felt much attraction to other people. He understood how they could be seen as typically beautiful but he never found himself lusting after them. That was until now. Sherlock had always been aware that John was different to other people. He was perhaps the only person he truly cared about and he felt empty without him for three years. He had always had a desire to be near the doctor and was the one person he let invade his personal space without being invited. But it was only now that Sherlock had become physically aroused in his company. Perhaps it was due to the moment Sherlock swore to himself he would separate John and Mary, it wasn't because Sherlock was afraid of losing his friendship, it was because he wanted John for himself. He wanted to replace Mary in every sense of the word. He wanted to be the one to share a bed, to be intimate.

Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted when John came downstairs and made his way to the kitchen. "Tea?" he shouted from the other room.

"Mmmm" Sherlock made an inaudible mumble, knowing that John will fill the kettle enough for two anyway.

A few minutes later John placed a mug on the coffee table next to the sofa that Sherlock was sprawled out upon. John took his seat in the armchair across from the sofa.

Sherlock opened his eyes to observe John who was contently sipping his tea. The man was wearing a white shirt with a tie which hung untied around his neck so he was ready for work. Sherlock couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to wrap the shorter man's tie around the palm of his hands and pull him closer to his body. He weighed up the pros and cons if he were to do just that. Obviously, at this stage, the cons outweighed the pros. John probably wouldn't take to his flatmate blatantly coming on to him.

Sherlock smiled as he decided that over the next few days, he would plant the seed of doubt in John's head and hopefully have him feel the same way Sherlock feels for him, killing two birds with one stone, Mary would be out of the picture and Sherlock would have John in the way he wanted.

Sherlock had obviously been staring at John for a little too long because the other man was looking at the detective, his eyebrows furrowed. "Sherlock, are you alright?"

The detective nodded and stood up. He made his way over to his flatmate and reached out for his tie. He smiled sweetly as he tied it for his friend then ran his fingers on the inside of his collar, folding it down over the now tied tie. He looked into John's bewildered eyes before standing up, straightening himself out, and making his way to his bedroom leaving John a little shocked.

* * *

><p>Over the next few days, Sherlock's behaviour became increasingly weird. He seemed to invade John's personal space more often and hover there for longer. When taking a cup of tea from him, Sherlock's hand would brush over John's a little more than it should and John would constantly be catching Sherlock staring intently at him. And weirdly enough, this didn't make John feel uncomfortable.<p>

Originally he put Sherlock's behaviour down to not being able to leave the flat and doing what he loves but now he's linking it with Sherlock's drunken ramblings a few nights beforehand.

John was stood at the kitchen counter making a slice of toast when Sherlock came up behind him a bit too closely and reached up into the cupboard above their heads, stretching out his body against John's back. Once he found what he was after, Sherlock placed his chin on John's shoulder and reached round in front of him to seize the piece of toast John had just prepared then placed it in his mouth before walking off.

John sighed and placed another piece of bread in the toaster to replace to one Sherlock claimed as he turned around to confront his flatmate.

"What the hell is going on?" He leaned against the counter, a little flushed from Sherlock's display.

"I don't know what you mean" Sherlock said as his tongue flicked out to lick a drop of jam on his upper lip.

John had to turn his gaze towards the floor as he felt himself become a little hot under the collar. _What the hell is happening to me?_ He thought. "Yes you do. You've been acting weird for a while now."

"In what way?" He innocently took another bite out of the toast.

"Personal space invasion, the staring, and how about just coming and going into the bathroom while I'm in the shower? It's a bit weird."

"It's not my fault you don't lock the bathroom door."

"I shouldn't have to worry about my bloody flatmate bursting in there while I am."

"Why do you care if I'm acting 'weird'? Why don't you just ignore it?" Sherlock took a step closer to John.

"It's pretty damn hard to ignore" he shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly.

"Why?" Sherlock continued to move closer to John who became unable to string together a sentence once Sherlock had his chest practically pressed up against his. "Do I make you nervous, John?"

_Yes_. "No".

"Are you sure?"

_No. _"Yes"

"Really? Because your heartbeat just increased tenfold. I wont even mention your pupils." Sherlock had his hands either side of John on the countertop.

"Sherlock, please move away." _Come closer._

Sherlock was now a few millimetres away from John's lips. In one swift movement, he could steal a kiss from the other man but a vibration against his thigh made him pause. It was John's phone which was in his pocket and pressed up against Sherlock's leg. The shorter man tried to wiggle out of their position to get to it but Sherlock didn't move making John's mission a lot harder. When he eventually got to his phone, he answered it and brought it up to his ear.

"H-Hello?" He stuttered. Sherlock hadn't moved away meaning that with every movement of John's lips the probability of them brushing against Sherlock's ever so lightly was increasing.

Sherlock could hear that the voice on the other side of the phone belonged to Mary. The corner of his lips curled wickedly before he closed his eyes and firmly pressed them against John's who let out a panicked squeak. He reached up and took the phone away from John and hung up then pressed his hand against the side of his head where the phone was previously sat.

John was frozen where he was stood. _What the hell is happening? What the fuck do I do?_ He thought.

He was alarmed when he felt Sherlock's tongue flick against his bottom lip. The action made him involuntary moan and melt into the kiss. He open his mouth, letting Sherlock's tongue roam inside and get tangled with John's. John intertwined his hands into Sherlock's messy curls and pulled him closer, completely lost in the moment.

Their bodies pushed up against each other and rolled into their movements, their arousel obvious through their trousers. Sherlock pulled his mouth away from John's who was panting heavily and made his way down the shorter man's neck, nipping at the skin softly with his teeth. John's head lulled back and he tried to breathe normally which was impossible when Sherlock was sucking gently at his earlobe.

_This is wrong_ thought John who was still victim to Sherlock. "Sherlock..." he panted.

"Mmm?" His baritone voice vibrated through John's chest, making his legs go weak.

John placed a hand on the other man's chest and tried to push him away. "Stop." He tried again and managed to cause enough space so he could duck out from underneath Sherlock. He swiftly moved away to the other side of the room and brought his hands up to his face, hiding his embarrassment. "What the _hell_ just happened?"

"I think it's pretty evident."

"What!" John paced the room, his mind racing with confusion. "Oh my god. I just cheated on my girlfriend with my flatmate. Oh my god."

"John, please. Calm down"

"I will not! I – I can't be here. I'm s-sorry. I just can't" he wondered around the flat looking lost when he finally found his coat and stormed out.

Sherlock leant against the counter and sighed, placing his head in his hands. He overestimated everything. He thought he had done enough but he just ended up confusing John instead. He should have waited longer.

His head jerked up when John had re-entered the flat, still looking flustered and bemused. "I'm going to Mary's. Don't you dare think about leaving the flat, not before we've had Molly speak to Lestrade. And eat something. You've hardly eaten today. I swear to God I will know if you haven't."

Sherlock smiled. "You're not very good at storming out."

"That's because you're so damn difficult" he said before he finally left the flat.

* * *

><p>John returned the next morning. He didn't talk about what had happened the day before. He only spoke to Sherlock when it was necessary and barely made eye contact. He was become more and more aware of the increasing tension between them and knew that they had to talk about what happened. But that embarrassed John.<p>

He was embarrassed because he let his guard down. He had spent three years convincing himself that Sherlock was dead and he'd never see the man again. It had completely destroyed him. These past few weeks, he worked so hard not to let Sherlock know how much he needed him. Of course the detective knew to a degree how much John hadn't coped but that was all John wanted him to know. Perhaps it was the military man in him that refused to show weakness. But last night, John fell apart in Sherlock's arms. Not in the same way he had when he first discovered he was alive, there was some sort of dignity about that, but the way he clutched the taller man's hair and the way he literally breathed him in showed how lost he was. How much he wanted him.

And John was scared about that. Because he was believed he was falling in love with the man.

"John?"

"Mmm?" Both men were sat in their regular armchairs, John reading the paper, Sherlock sat with his steepled fingers, looking at John.

"I'd like to apologise."

John looked up and raised an eyebrow. "You don't apologise" he stated.

"I know. Usually I have no reason to or I don't care enough to. But I care, John. I think I crossed some sort of line and I'd like to let you know that it'll never happen again if you don't wish it."

"If I don't wish it?"

"Yes. If you wish to do it again then, by all means."

John brought his concentration back to the paper, rejecting the images of them giving it another try from his mind. "Have you heard anything about this Moran guy? The sooner we get you out of the house, the better." He tried to change the conversation. Something which was obvious to Sherlock who was now smirking to himself.

"Err, no. I believe he's gone into some sort of hiding. His last sighting was in London roughly two weeks a go. I believe he know's I'm here and is just waiting for the right moment..." he trailed off as he thought about something. "John? What's the time?"

"Erm, quarter past three. Why?"

In one fleeting movement, Sherlock jumped out of his chair and ran to his phone which was on the kitchen table. He looked like a child on Christmas running to be the first under the tree. Once he reached his phone, he rapidly jabbed at the number keys to make a call.

"Molly? Hello! How was Sommerset? No. Don't answer that. Listen, I need you to do something for me... Yes... Please. I'm going to give you Inspector Lestrade's phone number and you're going to-... oh... You already have it? Alright. Call him and very simply inform him that I am not actually dead... You can do it... He wont shout at you... Well, he might but-... Molly... Molly... You're not listening... Of course he wont believe you! Which is why you're going to tell him to go to 221b just to be sure. That way it wont be _too_ much of a shock for him... Well it's either this or I'll just turn up at Scotland Yard and present myself... Yes John told me that wasn't a very good idea... Yes that was my original plan but that doesn't matter... Thank you, Molly. Goodbye." He hung up and spun around with happiness before running up to John with excitement.

"I take it you're happy?" He was a little taken aback when Sherlock placed his hands on John's knees and shook them excitedly.

"Molly's home from visiting her family and is going to call Lestrade like you said! Oh John, I am very happy indeed! I may _finally _be able to work again!"

"Don't get too ahead of yourself. The man has to forgive you first."

The doorbell downstairs rang once making Sherlock freeze. "That can't be him already. Can it?" He ran across the room and threw open the door.

John sighed and followed him downstairs to the front door. Sherlock was like a new puppy. John didn't want him alarming Lestrade too much.

When they reached the front door, Sherlock opened it with enthusiasm which quickly left as soon as he realised it wasn't Lestrade at the front door. It was Lena.

"Lena?" John said from behind Sherlock who was now studying her intently.

She had no bags with her – a spontaneous visit. She wasn't even wearing a jacket of any kind – very spontaneous. She didn't smile or express an emotion of content when the door was answered – she's worried about something. She held a pair car keys in her hand – she drove from the airport, probably hired a car. The larger key of the set was held between her index and middle finger, sticking out between them like an extended knuckle – a defence tactic that she often took (a key to the pressure point of the neck could deter any attacker long enough to run). Something was wrong.

"Hello boys." She finally smiled but it wasn't genuine. It was for show.

"Lena" Sherlock acknowledged.

They both looked at each other for longer than necessary like they were reading each other. Sherlock stepped aside and let the woman into the hallway.

Once the door was closed, Lena looked at Sherlock and nodded.

"Where?" he asked.

"The building across from your flat. He can't hear us but he can see us so act as if you haven't seen your old friend in so long and look happy" she smiled. Her expressions weren't matching what she was saying and John was completely confused.

Sherlock smiled and welcomed her then invited her to go up the stairs. "Ladies first."

John and Sherlock followed as Lena walked up the stairs. "Sherlock, what's going on?"

"Cameras probably. Moran hacked into Mycroft's link which is why he can see us inside the building. I'll need to inform my brother of his lack of security."

"Mycroft has camera's in here?" John felt himself get hot, worried about how much Mycroft actually sees. "What's Lena doing here?"

"I'll explain later. Just smile for the cameras, John"

They got to the flat and Sherlock offered Lena some tea which she accepted. Before they could sit down, a tiny red dot appeared on the side of Lena's head. They were in full view of the window which was where their marksman was taking his aim.

Lena closed her eyes taking a deep breath and reached behind her to pull out a gun from the waistband of her jeans. "Shit" she whispered. "Bugger, I'm so sorry, Sherlock." She moved to point the gun towards Sherlock, pausing it before moving it to take aim at John.

"Whoa, what the fuck is going on?" John put his arms out as if to stop her but was obviously out of his depth.

Sherlock smirked. "It seems our friend Mr Moran hasn't been so idle."

"I'm so sorry. He threatened me and practically dragged me over here. He told me I have to kill John like you did to Moriarty because you didn't keep your promise." Lena was visibly shaking.

"Predictable." Sherlock took out his phone from his pocket and smiled. "Perfect."

"Sherlock! Are you taking this seriously!"

"Of course I am, John" he turned back to Lena. "Lena, you can shoot now."

"What! Sherlock!"

"Calm down, John"

"You cannot tell me to be calm right now!"

"Trust me."

"How can I trust you when you're telling her to shoot me?"

"Sherlock? Now?" Lena was having trouble holding the gun because she was shaking so hard. The red dot of the sniper was almost blinding her due to the fact it was now focused on her eye.

"Give it ten seconds."

"Okay." She exhaled slowly to calm herself.

"Would someone like to explain to me what is happening right now because I feel like the only one who hasn't a clue!"

The moment that the doorbell rang furiously was the moment Lena shut her eyes and pulled the trigger.

* * *

><p><em>Sorry to have to leave you on a cliffhanger but I'll put you out of your misery soon. I expect the next chapter to be up by the end of the weekend. If not then I fully expect you to slap me. <em>

_Thank you all so much for reading this. I love you all. _

_Reviews are always welcomes :)_


End file.
